


Adrift

by PercussionFellow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Dark, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Mystery, Pain, Platonic Soulmates, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercussionFellow/pseuds/PercussionFellow
Summary: The one who is all gave life to the world, from her home in the heavens,She remembers for those who have forgotten,Speaks for those who have no voice,And defends those who are powerless,For the Goddess is good, and in her arms cradles the world.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Prelude

Byleth blinked, and found herself in a dark, cavernous room. Walls inscribed with strange symbols crept impossibly high into the air to meet a distant, unseen ceiling. Green light emanating from no discernable source cast long, weird shadows across the rock, and lit the air with a cool glow. The stonework on the walls looked old, weathered and worn, but strong, and obviously built to last the ravages of time.

This situation, she reflected, was probably something that should concern her. She was at least sure Jeralt would have been worried, finding himself alone in a strange place with no recollection of having gotten there. She was in her armor, which was odd in and of itself, considering that she did not remember putting it on. The last she recalled, she was comfortably laying in a bed, pressed snugly up against the form of…

That could not be right, she thought. She had never been interested in gaining the affections of others, and she scarcely understood the appeal of finding company at night, like some of the mercenaries in their band were want to. She disliked sharing anyways, and figured that sharing a cot on the long road would be an exercise in frustration.

No, Byleth always slept alone, with no company but for the dagger that Jeralt had always taught her to keep close at hand, even as she rested. The life of a sellsword was dangerous after all, even for warriors of their caliber, and she was sure she had made many enemies over her many years of strife. Not that she cared to know their names.

Nor did they oft survive battles with her long enough to learn them.

Thinking that now would be as good a time as ever to be armed; Byleth suddenly came to the realization that, despite wearing her plate, both her longsword and dagger were conspicuously absent.

Before she even had a chance to consider _why_ that would be so, a soft noise behind her stole her attention.

Byleth turned, and was taken aback at what she beheld: a grand staircase wrought of stone, with an equally impressive throne at the peak. Sitting there, stirring slightly in were clearly the movements of awakening, was a figure.

She was small, dressed in strange garb and adorned with fine jewelry, and to Byleth’s eyes looked to be a child. Stranger still were her ears, long and pointed, like some creature from one of Fódlan’s fairy tales. Strangest of all was her hair, long and wild and shockingly emerald green.

_Just like mine._

The stranger shifted on her throne one finally time, before finally stretching, and opening her eyes. Byleth shivered. The eyes she saw mirrored her own perfectly.

The girl blinked once, twice, and then focused her gaze on Byleth.

She stared at Byleth for a long moment, brow scrunched together as if trying to recall a distant memory. Byleth’s breath caught in her throat. Was this a foe? An ally? Was she the reason Byleth was here? Before she had the mind to give voice to her questions, the girl’s face lit up in what even Byleth could tell was wonderment.

Rising from her perch in a graceful motion, the girl leapt from her seat, and with impossible speed, bounded down the stairs, straight towards Byleth. Before she even had the chance to react, the girl reached her, slammed into her, and threw her arms around her.

Byleth staggered, though not from the impact.

_A pale, horribly ruined arm was held in front of her, the owner indistinguishable, but the limb trembling as if in fear._

_Thousands lay dead, their lifeless eyes cast towards the heavens, and their faces a rictus of despair. She recognized some of those faces. Crows picked at the flesh of those she held dearest._

_Angry, betrayed eyes, leveled with her own, flashing with hurt and contempt and rage._

_Limbs intertwined, her legs and arms twisted around those of another, her mind heavy with drink and joy._

And suddenly, her mind was her own again. Byleth shook her head, dazed at what she had just unwillingly bore witness to, before she realized the strange girl was still holding onto her. She looked down to the small figure, still clutching her tightly. “What…” Byleth began, “What did you do to me?”

“Do to you?” the girl responded, with some confusion. “I didn’t…do anything. I thought you…”

She thankfully let go of Byleth and stepped back slightly, uncanny eyes peering intently at her with an intensity and seriousness Byleth had never seen before on a child. Her eyes were dark green pools, and seemed to bear within them a weariness that Byleth had only seen before on decrepit elders.

“What is this?” the girl asked. “Why am I…why are we here? This is my…my room?” The girl looked at her arms then, her eyes scrunched up suspiciously. “Why did I hug you?”

Byleth looked blankly back at the girl. “I found myself in this space moments before you woke up and charged me,” she responded mildly. “I don’t know how I got here. The last I recall, I was falling asleep in my room in the Remire village inn. Alone.” She was not sure why she felt the need to add that last bit, but she continued nevertheless, “I was hoping you would tell me what exactly is...”

_Sothis._

The word came to the forefront of her mind, unbidden. It was all she could think of. Every other thought, any words that might have followed died on her lips.

_Her name is Sothis. How did I know that? Sothis, my…who is she?_

The girl looked at her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to finish her sentence. Byleth swallowed, and recognized that she had to ask. “Sothis?” Byleth said, her voice small and low.

The expectant look dropped off the girl’s face, and was replaced with shock and dawning recognition.

“Byleth?” she replied, the two names hanging heavily in the air. “I don’t know how I know.” She made a vague gesture towards Byleth. “But I do know you. And I know that you are important to me.” Sothis, for that was her name, shook her head ruefully. “Here we are, two strangers who recognize each other. I know fate is a tricky thing, but this cannot be mere coincidence.” She ran a hand through her voluminous hair, and continued, “We even look something alike, wouldn’t you say? At first I thought us kin, and I think there may be some truth to that, but some part of me knows that there is more here.” She paused a moment, before adding, “More between us.”

Byleth was inclined to agree. The only people in her life that she considered important to her at all could be counted on one hand: Jeralt, Artur, and Gerwine. Jeralt, her father, she had known all her life, and Artur and Gerwine were two of the mercenaries who had been with their company for the longest. They had taught her much of combat, and more of the world. Byleth supposed she could call them her friends, if she was correct in her understanding of the word. The girl before her was neither her father nor her friend, but Byleth could not help but feel a tug somewhere in her chest when she looked at her.

The conversation (though calling it such seemed generous by Byleth’s reckoning) seemed to die. Sothis stared at Byleth, her brow once again scrunched up, though in frustration or contemplation she could not tell. Byleth shifted uncomfortably as the moment persisted, and the pull in her chest became more painful. She became acutely aware of a tightness in the throat that had not been there before, and suddenly wished more than anything wished that the horrible quiet would be broken. That too, was unlike her. Byleth Eisner was a woman of few words.

Finally, when she could stand it no longer, Byleth decided to break the spell. “Sothis,” she started, the name rolling off her tongue as if she had been saying it her whole life, “Do you remember nothing? You mentioned this was your room? Where are we? Where were you before you awoke on that throne?” Byleth found a more pertinent question to ask. “ _Why_ were you on a throne?”

Sothis shook her head, green hair cascading around her from the motion. “I recall nothing. I awoke moments ago, and beheld you. I felt…” She cast her gaze downward, towards her bare feet. “I felt happy to see you.” She looked back up to Byleth. “Happy beyond words. And relieved as well.” Sothis blinked, as if just realizing what she had said. “The moment passed as quickly as it came!” she added hurriedly. A shadow passed over her face. “That is all. Everything else…before this.” She smiled sadly. “Nothing.”

Byleth considered her words for a long moment. Happy to see her? Byleth of course intellectually understood what happiness was, but had a hard time relating to the sensation. She had often seen smiles on the faces of mercenaries in their band; corners of the mouth upturned for a hundred different reasons for each individual, but she had never truly understood what could inspire such a response. The thing that felt most like what she understood happiness to be, she decided, was the small feeling of satisfaction that came when a contract was fulfilled, the gold handed over, and her father would look at her with crinkled eyes and say, “Well done.”

Byleth decided just then that she might as well be open with Sothis, especially since the strange girl had been remarkably forthright with her. “I felt a…tug, I guess you would say. When I saw you, I mean,” she added. “Right here.” Byleth poked a finger just above her left breast.

One of Sothis’ eyebrows rose. “Curious,” was all she said.

“We should…” Byleth stopped short, overcome with a wave of lightheadedness. She sunk to her knees, the effort of standing suddenly beyond her.

“Oh dear,” Sothis tutted, suddenly maternal in tone. “It would appear you are waking up. And just when we were getting somewhere.”

Byleth blanched. “Waking up? I’ve been asleep this whole time?” An unpleasant thought crept into her mind. “Is this even real? Am I dreaming?” Somehow, the idea of Sothis being a figment of her imagination was a reality she did not want to contemplate.

“I don’t know,” Sothis said, simply. “I’m real, I know that much. Damn!” she swore suddenly, the harsh bark startling Byleth, who by this point was starting to feel very woozy indeed. “This is frustrating!” Her tone softened. “I am sure we will speak again, soon. Until then…just try to remember. I shall do the same. And Byleth,” Sothis said, her eyes growing misty, “Don’t forget me again.”

Before Byleth even had a chance to question what exactly Sothis meant by "again," she was gone.

When she awoke to Jeralt gently shaking her awake, concern writ across his scarred face, Byleth was unsurprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.

Curious indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my very first fic gets posted. Exciting, wouldn't you agree? 
> 
> I hope anyone who reads this has their interest piqued; I plan to write much more of "Adrift," and I hope that what I come up with is enjoyable for you all to read.
> 
> Something worth mentioning here is that the tags on the story are not all-encompassing; I don't want too much to be given away at the outset. I think that makes for a more satisfying narrative, with an element of surprise and drama. I hope you agree, and don't hate me too much for the twists and turns I plan on subjecting you to.
> 
> Reviews and comments are EXTREMELY appreciated. I could always use feedback, good or bad, on my writing. I started writing this partially for practice, after all.
> 
> If you've gotten this far, you've read my chapter through--thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Cheers!


	2. Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth recalls some of her fondest memories.
> 
> Afterwards, she shares a heartfelt conversation with her father.

“Okay. I mean, you know if you want to talk, you can. Right?”

“We’re talking right now, are we not?”

Jeralt sighed in exasperation, and ran a hand through his wild blond hair. “Kid,” he said, “when you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn some things about people.” He gave her a measured look. “One of those things is: people don’t act unlike themselves for no good reason.” He sat down next to her on the bed, and placed one of his large hands on her shoulder. “Won’t you just tell me what's eating you?”

Byleth shook her head slightly. Sometimes, she really did not understand Jeralt at all. When he had gently woken her up ten minutes ago, her first reaction had been one of mild puzzlement. Jeralt said he had heard her rustling and muttering in her sleep, even through the wall that separated their rooms. Concerned, when he listened carefully by her door, he claimed he heard what sounded like crying, and decided to check on her. Byleth certainly believed him: she had awoken with tears streaking down her face, after all. Though, she was unsure exactly why that was so. She could not remember the last time she had cried, really cried, and while she was still somewhat shaken by her conversation with that strangely familiar girl, (especially the horrible moment when her mind was not her own), she was not the sort of person to weep at an unusual dream, or even a frightening one. Byleth was made of sterner stuff than that.

Confusion quickly faded however, and was replaced with dawning acknowledgement of an incontrovertible truth; she desperately longed to discuss her strange vision with Jeralt. Unfortunately, she simply could not.

It made sense to talk with him. Jeralt the Blade Breaker had, after all, been all across Fódlan on his many contracts and battles. His name was legend amongst warriors and sellswords, far more so than even her own, and although he had never said as much to her, Byleth privately suspected him to be much older and more well-traveled than he let on. And he let on a lot. Jeralt was the sort of man who seemed to have the answer to anything. He taught her almost everything she knew, and continued to teach her every day, even into her adulthood. He was without a doubt the person she was closest to in the world, though she supposed that was not saying much. 

And yet, when the idea of informing him of her strange dream crossed her mind, she was struck not a moment later with a wave of memories that were not her own. Just a single thought was enough to trigger such an overwhelming response. It was just like before, when Sothis had embraced her and seemingly set off an explosion of sight and sound in her thoughts.

Byleth winced as she recalled again the most recent invasion of her mind.

_Papa was dead, his head split open like a melon from crown to jaw. The sickening gash bled freely, staining the smooth stonework of the floor a bright crimson. Lifeblood ran in rivulets between the brick. Amongst those red canals, lay his empty corpse. His eyes were wide and open, and seemed bemused, as if his death had caught him by surprise. Looming over him stood the monster in human form, elegant white and blue robes splattered red, evidence of the horrible rage still painted across her face. Green locks spilt carelessly across her shoulders, each hair trembling with uncontrolled frustration and anger. She held her sword low, the tip almost grazing near the spot on the floor where the body that used to be her father lay. It would have been a beautiful work of craftsmanship had it not been for the gore smearing it. Worst of all was the monster’s gaze; directed straight towards Byleth, and bearing the same hideous malevolence that she had worn as she butchered her father. That same animal fear and fury._

_And then she moved._

_In the blink of an eye, she was gone, suddenly lunging toward Byleth; sword held aloft with deadly intent._

_And Byleth felt a terrible fear, and a searing pain in her chest._

Though it had been several minutes since she had been assaulted with the new wave of sensation, she could still picture the sight of Jeralt’s rapidly paling body, and his horrible, ruined face.

Sothis. It had to be connected to her conversation with Sothis, at least in some way. It was the only idea or theory that made any sense at all; in some way the small girl was responsible for these…visions. The only issue was that she still knew absolutely nothing about the girl; and had no idea on how to speak to her again. She was not even sure she was a real person; Byleth once again considered the disappointing possibility that she simply was discovering she had an affliction of the mind.

Worst of all was her absolute certainty that sharing her dream, or even the most recent vision with Jeralt would in the end bring him to that very same fate. It was nonsensical, illogical beyond belief. And yet all the same, she knew it to be true. If she told Jeralt, somehow, someway, that grisly reality would come to pass. Jeralt would die, in a most gruesome and ignominious fashion.

Byleth shuddered at the idea. It was a tiny motion, barely perceptible, but incredibly unlike her, and Jeralt noticed. He removed his hand from her shoulder, and leaned back slightly on the bed. Byleth wished he had not; she liked the feeling of his hand on her shoulder. It was warm, full of unsplit blood, and decidedly still alive. Her eyes widened slightly.

In a lightning bolt of clarity, Byleth was able to put a name to the horrible, unusual discomfort she felt. It was worry. Worry ate away at her, worry for Jeralt’s safety. She was not sure that she had ever felt this way before. It was a horrible, tight feeling, as if she had swallowed a pit and could still feel it in her stomach. She hated it.

In a second bout of insight, she realized that Jeralt was hounding her so doggedly because he was similarly concerned for her.

In that moment, she felt that she knew _exactly_ what he was thinking, and decided then that, well, perhaps she understood Jeralt after all.

“We leave for the Kingdom later today. You know that.” It was not a question. They did indeed have an upcoming mission to guard a wealthy merchant and his wagon train on his way to the Kingdom’s capital of Fhirdiad, and from the little their contract said, there would likely be armed conflict along the way. “Having your mind be anywhere else but the battlefield is a surefire way to get yourself killed,” he continued. He cocked a small, lopsided grin. “So, until I’m sure that you’re gonna be completely focused on the task at hand, I’m not leaving.”

She knew better than to assume this an idle threat. For however much more expressive Jeralt was than her, he easily matched her in patience. She and he had spent hours together without uttering a single word, utterly comfortable in the shared silence between them, so simply waiting for as long as it took for her to talk was certainly not a tactic he was above. Whenever he felt that she was clamming up, which was something he apparently felt often, he employed that very technique against her, usually to good effect. It gave her time to choose her words carefully if nothing else, which admittedly helped, and was perhaps the reason he did it in the first place.

Byleth considered again simply telling him about the girl, but moment she even idly considered the idea, the nightmarish image welled up once more, unbidden.

 _Please, not again,_ she thought. Unfortunately, however much she pleaded, there was little she could do little in the face of the irresistible tide of horror, save for cowering deep within her mind. And, just as quickly as the episode began, it ended. It felt like it had lasted an eternity, but she knew it came and went in a moment, in truth. Her head hurt. She, for a ludicrous moment, wished for nothing more than to speak with Sothis again.

Although she was reasonably sure she would never forget that ruinous sight, or the horrible fear that bloody woman inspired, the intensity of the vision eventually abated, and Byleth was again left with the absolute certainty that she could tell Jeralt nothing. She just _knew_. He would die if she told him. Byleth's stomach heaved, and she realized that the idea nauseated her. She tasted bile.

Jeralt had always looked out for her. One of her earliest memories was of him teaching her how to hold a (blunted) dagger. She was fascinated in the way he could make the silvery blade dance across his fingers, and resolved to learn to do the same. She could still remember the way his face lit up when she asked him for training. Suddenly, that look became the most important in the world.

Of course she always tried her best to reciprocate the favor. That was fair, right? Everybody needed someone looking out for them, after all, and while she was sure she could teach the Blade Breaker nothing of martial skill, she could always watch his back in a fight. Their line of work was dangerous, and while she never really was worried for his safety before, she could not-so-humbly say with full honesty that she had saved his hide more than once.

Her outlook had changed. The idea was horrible, and insidious, and one she had never thought before: Jeralt was mortal. As mortal as the fools who challenged her to combat and were cut down as a result. It seemed trite to admit in retrospect, but she realized only now that she had never even considered the idea of a world without him in it. He was larger than life somehow; a unstoppable warrior and even more prodigious drinker. Jeralt was a fixture in her world, and she suddenly realized that she did not want him to leave her.

“Okay,” she said abruptly, shattering the silence that had built between them.

Jeralt leaned forward, curious.

She felt very much unlike herself at the moment. Her head was pounding, and a storm of thoughts and feelings clouded her normally so very placid mind. She realized suddenly that she was sweating, and a distant part of her wondered if she was exhibiting the telltale signs of stress. She had seen some of their greener men look not dissimilar after their first battle, but had always cared little and less about what weak men liable to die thought. Perhaps she had been too cold, for now she was certain that the room felt smaller than it had the moment prior, and her chest felt tight, like there was a weight on it. Would she be able to feel her heartbeat, provided it ever had?

_Breathe._

With a shuddering breath, Byleth willed herself calm. Stealing a glance to her left, she was not altogether surprised to see Jeralt looking at her with close-to-naked alarm. She needed to end this conversation, and quickly. Something was desperately wrong with her, she knew now, and she absolutely could not have Jeralt ask after it. She needed to talk to Sothis, to figure out what in the hell was going on. Everything was moving too quickly. She had been awake for mere minutes but could have sworn hours had passed. Byleth realized just then that to save Jeralt she would have to do something with which she had little experience, and even less inclination for.

Deception.

Byleth took a deep breath again, and closed her eyes. She was sure she had once heard Gerwine say that you could always tell if someone was lying through their eyes. “I was dreaming about Sitri,” she started. “About how I never knew her.” She opened her eyes.

Jeralt recoiled as if struck. He blinked once, then twice, before shaking his head, as if trying to settle racing thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak, before thinking better of it, and staying silent. He leaned back again in the bed, head propped up against the wall behind him, and Byleth could say with confidence that she had absolutely no idea what the expression on his face said. Jeralt was normally inscrutable, but now he was downright mystifying to her. His brow was scrunched together, and his mouth was set in a grimace, but his eyes held an uncharacteristic softness, and were solely locked on her.

“Oh, kid.”

She felt her breath hitch when she heard his voice, impossibly soft. She had made a mistake; she could already tell.

“Jeralt?” she attempted.

He chuckled lightly. It was a pleasant sound: deep and rich. “Sorry, kid. I just…wasn’t expecting you to say that is all.” He sighed, his eyes gleaming. “What brought this on? You never seemed interested in hearing about her before.”

Byleth shrugged uncomfortably. In truth, she never _had_ particularly cared about hearing of Sitri. Why would she? The woman had been dead Byleth’s entire life; how could she have even known her enough to care about her?

It felt wrong to admit that, now.

She hated this. She was trapped. She had completely misjudged Jeralt’s response. By giving him an answer that she was sure would rattle him, Byleth hoped that Jeralt would accept her response, give her a kind word, and most importantly drop the topic. While Jeralt had certainly been rattled, now it seemed as if he planned to spend all night talking about a dream she had not even had.

She hated this part of herself. She never knew how to talk to the people in her life. It felt as if there was a divide between her and everyone else, and she could never figure out how to span it. She had known this man for her whole life, and could not even predict the response that invoking his dead wife would bring. Was she really that oblivious?

That stupid?

She scowled, warmth suffusing her face in a way she was once again completely unfamiliar with. Everything was moving too quickly. Since the moment she had woken up, her world felt different. She was seeing things that were not even there, feeling things that she never had before. She would not have been surprised to learn that she was growing feeble in the mind. Perhaps she had taken one too many knocks to the head? One thing remained abundantly clear, however.

She supposed she really did not understand Jeralt, after all.

The thought appalled her

The growing silence was becoming unbearable. She still had to say something. “I—”

The door to the room burst open, in a sudden flurry of noise and movement. In an instant, Jeralt and Byleth were on their feet, facing towards the sudden intrusion with the reflexes only years of combat could bring. Their previous conversation was dropped, which Byleth felt was exceedingly lucky.

Stood behind the doorframe was an extremely disheveled Artur, wheezing for air.

“Boss,” Artur managed, still gasping from the exertion. “Demon,” he acknowledged, breathing gradually slowing and stabilizing. He must have sprinted all the way from the main camp outside Remire to the inn, a good mile away. Byleth could not help but notice his armor, or rather his lack thereof. He looked as if he had tried to don it himself on the way to the inn; half of his armor was completely absent, and the other half had been sloppily strapped on, uncharacteristic of the normally precise man. Something had spooked him, that was clear.

Artur took one final, deep breath, mustache trembling, though from exertion or anxiety, Byleth could not tell.

“We have a problem. It’s the bandits, you see.”

Byleth felt significantly less lucky. Everything was moving too quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> It's here, and quite a bit later than I promised. I have no excuse except for that life has been extremely busy, and I hope to have the next chapter out with less delay. To the probably two of you still even slightly interested, here's the second, but really first main chapter of "Adrift." I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Before someone asks, yes, I'm going to be devious and inconsistent with the chapter summaries. 
> 
> As always, any and all commentary is both encouraged and appreciated.
> 
> Most of all, thank you for reading my story!
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
